Letters for Diana
by SamanthaBlue
Summary: Spencer Reid loves his mother dearly and writes her a letter every day. When he is physically prevented from doing so, Hotch steps in on his behalf.
1. Chapter 1

**Letters for Diana**

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but the idea.

**A/N**: **MAJOR SPOILERS for Lessons Learned and Revelations **but I assume by now most people have seen those episodes…

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><p>The first time Aaron Hotchner interceded on Spencer's behalf in writing a letter to his mother, the younger man had asked him to do it. Reid hadn't been sure how long he would be in Cuba with Gideon and Prentiss. He hadn't been sure the authorities in Guantanamo Bay would allow him to send a personal message to his institutionalised mother, and he certainly hadn't wanted her to see any postmark on the envelope that would give away his location. With Diana Reid's illness, she would likely think the fascist government her son worked for had decided to lock him up and torture him, even if he had been able to tell her what he was doing there.<p>

Reid had mostly mumbled all this to Hotch, speaking very quickly and looking anywhere but in his eyes. He had kept his mother's illness a secret for years before her life had been put in danger, and a crazy, bomb-wielding unsub had forced Reid to have her flown to DC. Hotch wasn't surprised that Reid still was uncomfortable talking about it, but apparently he cared more that his mother would receive a letter than what his boss would think of him.

Hotch had followed Reid's instructions and made time in his busy day to finish off the half complete letter Reid had left behind in his desk drawer. It didn't take long for Hotch to read through the part Spencer had already filled out, taking note of how familiar, how _easy _Reid sounded when he spoke to her. He didn't sound anything like the shy genius who had worked on Hotch's team for several years now.

_Dear Mom,_

_Did you know a big part of my job is often linguistic analysis? So I guess it's like what you do, except you look at real published works and I look at emails and messages and things. You'd be surprised how much of your job would be involved in what I do – did you know _Catcher in the Rye _was associated with the assassinations and attempted assassinations of John Lennon, Rebecca Schaeffer and Ronald Reagan? You probably did know that. So I think you're incorrect in what you said to me last time you spoke to me – you would be of use here. I wish you wouldn't say you're useless._

_Guess what? A new team member came to join us today. It was a surprise – Hotch and Gideon didn't tell us anyone was replacing Elle just yet. Her name is Emily Prentiss, and she –_

That was where Reid, for whatever reason, had put the letter aside and gone off to do other things, probably joining them in the conference room, intending on finishing it later only to discover he would have no time and he would have to rely on his boss to ensure that his mother received her daily letter.

And so Hotch managed to find time analysing photographs and driving to different locations to try and prevent the first attack on US soil since 9/11 to sit down, spend a little time practising emulating Reid's handwriting, and eventually complete the letter.

_- seems nice enough, but I really don't know much about her yet. I heard her parents are very powerful people – diplomats – and so Hotch seems a bit worried she won't be any good and her parents might have gotten her the job. She seems to be trying really hard though. _

_We're splitting up the team for this next assignment. I'm going with Gideon and Emily and the others are doing something else. We're going to a prison to talk to one of the inmates there – we think he has a partner who is still at large and we need him to give us a clue as to where the partner is. The others are going around the area investigating possible locations as we discover them from the inmate. I'll tell you more about that later – for now I have to go so we're not late for the interview. I'll also tell you how Emily gets on._

_I love you, Mom._

_Spencer_

Hotch read over the completed letter three times after he finished it, hoping he had done it well enough so as to escape detection. He couldn't tell Diana what the team was _really _doing – he knew Reid usually did but with a possible threat on national security it wasn't a wise idea, but he had given her enough accurate detail to balance out the inaccurate. His handwriting, to his trained profiler's eyes, was woeful, but to another's would be passable as Reid's.

Eventually deeming it worthy, Hotch made a photocopy to give to Reid so the younger man would know what he wrote, and sent the original to Reid's mother in Las Vegas.

The next day, Hotch did the same again, writing a letter in Reid's handwriting so his mother would be happy. He made up a lot of what happened in Guantanamo, replacing the detainment centre with a regular prison, but reported honestly that Emily Prentiss seemed to be doing a good job, having heard that from Gideon. Again, he kept a photocopy for Reid and sent the original to Las Vegas.

When Reid returned, looking exhausted but satisfied with a job well done, Hotch informed him that the task had been completed and two letters had been sent. Reid, again refusing to meet Hotch's eyes, thanked him and quietly accepted the two photocopies.

"You know you shouldn't be embarrassed about this," Hotch said, correctly interpreting Reid's reluctance to make eye contact. "You go out of your way to make sure your mother is happy. Not many mothers have a son who would do what you do. It's commendable."

Reid's shoulders raised slightly in a very small shrug. "I'd be a better son if I cared enough to visit," he said shortly, then quickly departed, ensuring Hotch could say nothing to contradict the self-deprecating statement.

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><p>The second time Hotch wrote a letter to Diana Reid, the circumstances were far less favourable. Hotch, having neither Reid's knowledge nor approval this time, had agonized for hours on whether or not he should even do it. He had a choice between showing faith in Reid and in his team by pretending to be Reid and writing a letter to Diana; and allowing his fears to conquer him, giving up and calling the hospital to tell a mentally ill woman that the "fascists" her son worked with had gone and allowed him to be kidnapped and tortured, and possibly killed. Professionally, he knew the right thing to do was not to give Diana false hope; but emotionally he couldn't allow himself to admit he may not be able to get Reid out of this, and it was possible Diana would never recover from the news, even if her son were to come out of this safe and whole.<p>

_Safe and whole_, Hotch scoffed to himself. No matter how successful the team was, Reid wouldn't be safe and whole for a long time after this.

But his decision had been made. He couldn't allow himself to simply give up. With that thought in mind, Hotch locked himself in Charles Hankel's bedroom and sat at the neurotically neat desk, taking some paper and a pen and beginning to write.

_Dear Mom,_

_We're still in Georgia. We actually got a lead on the case, finally. This was a really difficult one – we thought there were several unsubs but as it turned out there was only one. We discovered his identity too, luckily, but it looks like we'll be here for a bit longer. As soon as we found out who it was committing these murders he managed to disappear on us. He's taken someone hostage now too – one of the younger police officers out here. We're all pretty worried about him; he was a really kind person and he was a huge help in this case. We're hoping we can get him back soon. I don't want to have to tell his family we failed – that's always been the hardest part of this job._

_I'm a bit upset by the way this case is going, to tell you the truth. We had no lead on this guy – we only found him by chance – and as soon as we found him he managed to disappear, and he took someone with him. He hasn't stopped killing, either. We even had to bring Garcia out to Georgia because we needed her too badly – on a normal case she is just as useful in Quantico, but this isn't really normal._

_I really hope I can give you good news on the case tomorrow, Mom. For now I have to go. We're reading through journals the unsub left behind of his life, trying to discover something useful from them, and reading and linguistic analysis is always my specialty, so I should go and help the others._

_I love you so much, Mom. I'll write you tomorrow._

_Spencer_

Hotch had swallowed many times as he wrote the letter, trying to fight the lump in his throat. That letter was far more honest than the last one he had written for Diana, with the exception of the last line. Hotch desperately hoped he _wouldn't _have to write to Diana tomorrow, because he hoped Reid would be back to write to her himself. Hotch knew that eventually, whether by Spencer telling her after they rescued him or Hotch telling her in the event that the case went bad, Diana would one day find out the truth: that it was her son who had been kidnapped and was being tortured, not some faceless cop. He just hoped Reid appreciated what he was doing: trying to alleviate her worries and prevent her from having sleepless nights preparing for the worst. He didn't know if it was the right thing to do, but it was the best he had at that moment.

After taking a brief moment to breathe and make sure his emotions were steady, Hotch left Charles' room to go and have the letter photocopied in the hopes that Reid would one day get to see what Hotch had said to his mother.

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><p><strong>AN**: Any comments are always appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Letters for Diana**

**A/N**: Again, **MAJOR SPOILERS FOR **_**REVELATIONS**_. Also, slightly icky drug stuff ahead; be warned.

Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to leave a review; they were really appreciated and they help get it out so much faster. Also thank you to everyone who added this to their alerts/favourites, and finally, thanks to all you lurkers out there!

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><p>Hotch did not receive his dearest wish the following day: Reid was still not safe and was unable to write his mother her daily letter. In fact, it seemed God had decided to give Hotch the exact <em>opposite <em>of what he had asked for. Reid had been forced to sentence a married couple to death simply because the man was a lawyer. Hotch knew time was running out, but they were no closer to finding a possible location.

Hotch was facing the same predicament he had faced yesterday: should he show faith in Reid and his team, and keep Diana happy for the moment? Or should he come clean, call the hospital and admit to an ill woman that he had no idea where her son was, or even if he would live to see the next hour? It was a sickening burden. The one thing he wanted to do most was the one thing he knew he could never do: simply ignore Diana and hope she wouldn't notice a missing letter. Reid might forgive Hotch if he wasn't happy with him sending her letters or calling her to tell the truth; but Hotch knew Reid would never forgive him if he brushed Diana off as a minor irritant which would go away if he waited long enough.

As much as the professional, practical Unit Chief in him was screaming at him to call the hospital and tell Diana Reid the truth, the father and husband in him refused to do anything of the sort. He would not display such a blatant lack of trust in his team. Reid was doing everything he could to stay alive, even choosing one person to live so that the lot of them would not die. Hotch knew that would have been probably the most difficult moment of the young genius's life, and it would be a slap in the face if Hotch were not to respond to his bravery with trust that he would eventually make it out of there.

And so, he sat down at Charles Hankle's desk and began writing his fourth letter to Diana.

_Dear Mom,_

_We still haven't managed to apprehend the unsub. Fortunately the officer he kidnapped is still alive – we were all surprised that he hasn't killed him yet; he's killing people he thinks have gone against the Bible, and to be honest that is just about everybody. Instead he's holding him somewhere and making him choose which "sinners" should be killed. He killed two people last night._

_JJ is finding this case difficult – we all are, but she's struggling a lot. This man kept violent dogs on his property and they attacked her when she went too close. She had to shoot them – and you know JJ; she isn't too keen on guns._

_We found out this guy has a drug addiction and we're hoping adding this to the profile will help us find him. So far we haven't had any major breakthroughs though._

_I miss you a lot. It's pretty lonely out here; we don't have much contact with anyone out here in the country. There isn't even any cell phone reception. I'm feeling a bit down, to be honest. _

_I'm really hoping for a break in the case so I can get home, back to civilisation. I love you._

_Spencer_

It was, again, a very honest letter. Hotch knew Reid would be desperately lonely at the moment, and feeling a lot worse than "a bit down". But it was all he could give Diana for now. He was, as the letter stated, desperately hoping for a break in the case soon. He didn't think he had it in him to write another letter under these circumstances.

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><p>Hotch was relieved – he did not have to write another letter under the circumstances of the previous two. He did, however, have to write a third letter to Diana the very next day. This time, it was done with Reid's approval.<p>

They hadn't been able to rescue Reid – the kid had rescued himself. This only made Hotch's guilt for sending Reid and JJ to Hankle's house a thousand times worse: he had gotten Reid kidnapped, then relied on _him _to find the location he was being held in, and finally relied on _him _to shoot his tormentor. He had a brief flash of worry when Tobias lay dying; he didn't at all like the look on Reid's face as he crawled next to the other man – his expression too closely mirrored grief, but it had only been one brief instant.

They had driven Reid to the hospital themselves. Reid had protested feebly at first, but then he had quieted and allowed them to do whatever they liked.

Hotch had felt very ill as he listened to the doctor's report. They had found Dilaudid in his tox screen. Tobias Hankle had forced drugs upon his subordinate, and they would all have to wait while Reid underwent a short but extremely painful detox.

Nobody slept the remainder of the night. Once the withdrawal began, it had not taken long for Morgan to say the wrong thing and be thrown from the room. Hotch certainly didn't think it was Morgan's fault; he was probably just being his ordinary self. The detox made Reid extremely irritable, and he had been fighting with anyone and everyone he came in contact with even before he threw Morgan out.

It was around midday when Reid asked to speak to Hotch alone. Garcia had been too upset to visit Reid since the withdrawal began, but Hotch didn't feel any fear from the trembling, sweating shell of a man that Tobias had left behind. He only felt sympathy.

Reid was lying on his side, one hand pressed to his forehead and his eyes firmly closed, staving off the worst headache he had ever had. Lack of nutrition from his captivity and subsequent vomiting and diarrhoea had left him extremely weak, and a persistent low grade fever ensured he was permanently uncomfortable. Both his hands were visibly trembling.

"I want to read what you wrote," Reid said in a low, very pained voice. "I know you wrote to her. I want to read it."

The corner of Hotch's mouth twitched. "I thought we weren't supposed to profile each other," he remarked, very quietly so as not to offend Reid's senses. He pulled the two photocopies from the pocket in which he had been keeping them and placed them in Reid's outstretched hand.

Reid was in too much pain to keep his eyes open for long, but thanks to his ability to read at 20,000 words per minute, he only had to open them briefly to read and memorise both letters. He simply dropped the pages on the mattress beside him when he was done, and Hotch wordlessly moved them to the bedside table. "Thank you," Reid murmured.

"It's no problem."

Reid opened his eyes again, briefly meeting Hotch's gaze before he slammed them shut. They were red, as though he had been crying, but Hotch knew he hadn't cried since they found him in the graveyard. "I need you to do something else," Reid mumbled.

Hotch suspected Reid wouldn't be so forward if he wasn't so ill. He would have ordinarily used phrases like "if you don't mind" or even a simple "please". It wasn't that Hotch minded, because he still felt so guilty about the whole incident that Reid could ask him to do anything and he'd do it. It was just an observation. "What is it?" he asked.

"I want to write my mom a letter," Reid admitted, and Hotch felt a sudden surge of sympathy as his voice cracked, and for the first time since Tobias's death, Reid lost his composure. "But I can't do it; my hands won't stop shaking. And I can't wait; the doctor says it'll be like this another twenty four hours at least, and I just –"

"Reid, do you want to dictate to me?" Hotch offered, interrupting Reid's speech. Reid gave a tiny nod, and Hotch briefly excused himself so he could find some paper and a pen. When he returned, Reid was still in the curled-up position he had left him in, the hand with an IV in it pressed against his forehead and the other clutching the blankets. Hotch sat down in the chair next to the bed, and Reid began speaking.

"Dear Mom," he said quietly. "I'm dictating this letter to Hotch; he's writing it down for me." He took a breath. "I need you to know that I'm okay. But I also want you to know the truth.

"It was me; I was the police officer I wrote you about. I didn't want you to worry, so I lied to you. But the past two days have been the worst days of my life. I was scared all the time and I had no idea when it would end. But I'm safe now. I'm in a hospital and I should be going home in a day or two.

"I know you don't like me studying serial killers because it's too sad, so I know you won't like to hear of this. But I wanted to tell you the truth. I'm going to call you when I get back home. I'd love to hear your voice.

"I hope you're doing well; have you been reading anything recently? I'd love something to read, but I didn't bring anything with me. I didn't anticipate staying in a hospital. Do you have any recommendations?

I love you, Mom, and I really look forward to hearing from you." With that, Reid tapered off, and Hotch signed the letter. "Hey, Hotch?" Reid mumbled, his voice losing its clarity as exhaustion kicked in once again.

"Yes?"

"Could you wait to mail that a bit longer?" Reid requested, tugging the thin blanket a little closer to his chin. "I want to think about whether I really want to tell her."

Hotch nodded, putting the letter in his pocket. As Reid winced again, facing another wave of nausea or pain – Hotch couldn't tell which – the older profiler reached out and laid a comforting hand upon his subordinate's thin shoulder.

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><p><strong>AN**: Again, any comments are appreciated. To answer a commonly asked question, yes, I will be tackling Amplification. I'm going in chronological order of the show.


	3. Chapter 3

**Letters for Diana**

**A/N**: **MAJOR SPOILERS FOR **_**MINIMAL LOSS **_ahead!

Thank you again so much to all who have read and/or added this story to their favourite/alerts lists. Thank you most especially to those who took the time to leave a review. They were most heartwarming and appreciated; and it's absolutely incredible to hear all your opinions on this. This chapter's a little less intense than the last couple.

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><p>His heart had stuttered when Morgan had screamed his name across the offices of the BAU, and it had been thundering ever since. He never felt more ruthless or more frightened than when members of his team were threatened, and two of them had been in danger for far longer than he would have liked. He, Rossi and Morgan had already been forced to listen in as Prentiss had been savagely beaten by the cult leader just because some idiot in the Attorney-General's office had wanted his five seconds of recognition for telling the media that there was an FBI agent inside. Thinking back to how ill he had felt when he heard glass shatter just as Prentiss had let out a particularly pained cry, Hotch vowed that when this was all over he would find out who had leaked the information, and he would make it very difficult for the guy to get a job ever again.<p>

He still lived in fear that Cyrus would decide a beating wasn't enough for Emily, or he would discover that Reid, too, was an undercover agent. But Hotch was the leader of this team, and right now, he was charged with the duty of getting as many people out alive as possible. He was in the unenviable position of having to constantly remind himself that Prentiss and Reid were worth no more and no less than anybody else in there; and as his two agents continued to prioritise the children's lives from the inside, so he also had to do from the outside.

It sure as hell wasn't easy, though.

Hotch, Rossi and Morgan continued to listen anxiously to what was going on inside the compound an hour after Cyrus had ordered his men to tie Emily up somewhere. They hoped fervently that she was sleeping, because they didn't hear a thing from her, but were glad that Cyrus had ordered her to be tied up: it meant she wasn't injured badly enough to be incapacitated by her own body.

Reid was still safe, though it sounded as though it had been decided that he could no longer be left on his own. He was engaged in a conversation with an unknown male – well, _monologue _probably would have been a more fitting term. He was telling the man everything he had learned in his years "working for children": how Mozart benefited babies and how the ranch should play his compositions to their young children to enable them to grow up to be more ingenious and therefore better able to serve God; how he found that not enough mothers were breastfeeding their babies and how breastfeeding before the age of six months was essential to the development of a child's immune system; and how wonderful it was that the ranch was not getting the children to constantly use antibacterial soap and how the children were allowed to play with dirt, as this, too, apparently strengthened their immune system.

"This coming from the man who won't shake hands," Rossi muttered wryly, getting a little tired of Reid's rambling.

"Sh," said Hotch. "I know Reid can't control his mouth, but there could be something important coming and we have to listen for it." He sure wished he could get in there and give Reid a push in the right direction…

"_You calling us dirty_?" the unidentified man asked suddenly, cutting off Reid's flow. There was a definite note of offence in his voice.

"_No, not at all_!" Reid replied hurriedly. "_You know what? You should check out the latest edition of _The Durango Herald_… there's a great article about raising kids on page eighteen…_"

"_I'm not much of a reader_," responded the other man.

"_Oh, you're not?_" Reid said inquisitively, feigning surprise, but Hotch knew Reid would have already had the man pegged. He gestured JJ over with his right hand as with his left he frantically scribbled down the name of the paper and page number Reid had given him.

"I need a copy of _The Durango Herald _ASAP," he told her, tuning out Reid's conversation with the man, which had once again gone to inane topics.

"You got it," promised JJ, and she walked away.

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><p>It took half an hour before the latest copy of <em>The Durango Herald <em>reached Hotch's hands. He had to chuckle at Reid's… Reid-ness; it was just like the genius to read and memorise all the local papers in preparation for an assignment like his. The unit chief didn't really know what he was expecting as he flipped eagerly to the eighteenth page, but it was not an article about how lonely Colorado's elderly became in nursing homes because nobody would call or visit them, even on Christmas.

"What's he trying to say?" Morgan asked. He had been reading over Hotch's shoulder. "Do they have elderly inside? Rossi didn't see any, and all our evidence suggests they don't…"

"It's not that," replied Hotch, and he sighed. He'd forgotten all about Diana. It had been over a year ago that Hotch had written his last letter, and as per their silent agreement, neither Hotch nor Reid had mentioned the favours since. Hotch worried a little that Reid was still embarrassed by his mother. It had been improving, certainly: he had gone from only revealing her condition – or even acknowledging her _existence _– in front of his work colleagues under threat of death for both mother and son to allowing Hotch to listen and even record his most private and intimate feelings that he shared only with her. Hotch could still hear the tired, broken voice speaking from the hospital bed, "_I was scared all the time and I had no idea when it would end…_" It killed him as a father to know that he couldn't rush Reid into anything. He could only give the tiny, now annual bit of assistance he was permitted to give and go on hoping. "It's alright, Morgan; I know what it means," Hotch said, exhaustion creeping into his voice. It had been a long day. "I'll take care of it; you go and help Dave with whatever he's doing."

Hotch knew he didn't have much time before he'd have to deliver the letter, and he was very pleased there was nothing urgent going on with the stand-off that he would need to attend to, because no matter how much Hotch wanted to help, Diana Reid's feelings couldn't come before an urgent call. For this reason, Hotch was a little hurried when he wrote the letter, not knowing when an urgent situation would crop up that would force him to drop everything; and this meant he had to scribble out a few words where his handwriting had slipped too much into Aaron Hotchner style to be passable as Reid's.

_Dear Mom,_

_I told you yesterday about how Emily and I were going to Colorado to see if there were some children being mistreated in this cult. Well, when we arrived everything was going well, but then the state police began a raid. Nobody had told us this was on, and we were trapped inside – Emily, Nancy from child services and I. It was a bit scary – there was a lot of gunfire for a while, but Emily and I are both okay. There's a man here who belongs to the cult, and I used how he didn't read as a way to trick him into delivering this message outside to the rest of my team, who will send it off. You always said people should read, and I just proved it._

_So I'm still inside, but I'm not hurt or anything. My team is heading the hostage negotiations – well, Rossi is, really – and that's wonderful, because he wrote the book on it and he's very good at it, which I suppose is why Hotch put him in charge of it. I'm not too worried for myself at the moment. The religious group is treating me well. My main concern is the children. We have to get the children out of here in case things do take a turn for the worse – and also because of the call we received yesterday. Emily and I are certain the call was truthful – the cult leader is treating the children poorly. So now we have two goals to focus on: the original of investigating exactly what is going on with the leader, and the new goal of ending the siege with minimal bloodshed._

_How are you going? Have you written much in your journals recently? I'm a bit jealous of you – I'd love to be in sunny Las Vegas instead of Colorado. Hopefully next assignment will take us somewhere less cloudy – I'll ask Hotch. I doubt he'll say we can take certain cases just for the nice weather though._

_I love you, Mom. I miss you._

_Spencer_

With his brain so wound up and his many errors, the letter took longer for Hotch to complete than any others. He had agonised a little about referring to what Reid had written in his previous letter; if he got that wrong Diana would pick up on that, and she wouldn't take "I forgot what I wrote" as an excuse with a son like Spencer. But he knew Reid and he knew what would have been included in yesterday's letter. He was just a little… stressed at the moment. The day, particularly having to listen to Prentiss's beating, had taken a lot out of him.

He had carefully omitted the FBI's use of bugs, knowing what that information could do to a paranoid schizophrenic, and he had carefully included a mention of Rossi's books, knowing that was exactly the type of thing Reid would write about. He just wished he had a copy on him so he could give Diana a quotation – Reid would have been able to give her one off the top of his head.

Hotch smiled a little to himself, but that smile disappeared almost immediately as he remembered where Reid and Prentiss were still stuck, and how many hours would have to pass on without hope of rescue for either of them.

Hotch sighed deeply as he realised something. He was happy and proud to have been the one chosen for the job, but he really, _really _hated writing letters to Diana.

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><p><strong>AN**: Amplification next. Please support me by leaving a review; my confidence has been shaken by my sister's recent prom and how much work goes into getting her ready – who knew how many stores, salons, and friends' houses it takes to get ready for a prom? I'm exhausted!


	4. Chapter 4

**Letters for Diana**

**A/N**: **MAJOR SPOILERS FOR **_**AMPLIFICATION **_**AHEAD!**

Thank you so much to everyone for their overwhelming and continued support for this fic. You've made writing it so much more joyous and every one of you is very important to me.

Please forgive my tardiness. I've been very busy: Christmas on one side of the family, Hannukah on the other, organising for end of school year, and I'm maid of honour at a January wedding. Searching for a new job through all this and… yes, I've been extremely busy. Extra long one to reward your patience.

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><p>Ever since he had locked that door between himself and Morgan – that <em>stupid <em>glass door – Reid had felt increasingly isolated and lonely. He had managed to distract himself through his work, but it was becoming less and less enjoyable the sicker he became. It was hard to focus with a fever, and whenever his attention _did _waver it always went to the same place.

He'd read the government reports of the 2001 anthrax attacks on the drive over, and he was heartily regretting that now. He'd read, amongst other things, how the survivors of inhalation anthrax – that most harmful strain which he now had – suffered multiple health problems even years after they had officially been cured. Reid didn't want to die, but would he really want to live after this? Would he want to live if he could never work again? If he had trouble remembering the most simple things, like whether or not he'd showered that day? If for the rest of his life, he couldn't stay awake longer than five hours?

He had to hold out hope. This strain was different. The fact that he was feeling sick at all this early on in the infection told him that. Perhaps it would hurt him hard but fast; getting it all over and done with and leaving few complications for later in life. He just had to stay positive, and work on finding the cure.

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><p>Hotch didn't tell Morgan Reid had found a scanner next to a computer sitting on the desk in the room the young man was now trapped in, and had quickly scribbled out a letter to his mother on a piece of paper before emailing it to the unit chief. He didn't tell Morgan that the letter had contained the words "I love you" far too often of Hotch's liking, or that the letter contained far too many references to events long past that the mother and son had shared together. All in all, it felt far too much like goodbye.<p>

Hotch had no time to mail the letter. He wouldn't even take the twenty minutes out of his day to do that. He wouldn't allow his attention to waver for a moment while Reid's life, and really, the lives of all the members of his team and his family, were hanging in the balance. He simply printed the letter off from a computer and placed it in an addressed envelope, giving Anderson some money for stamps and asking him to post it.

He certainly wouldn't tell Morgan Reid had written more personally to Hotch, asking him to make absolutely sure his will was honoured and all his assets went towards ensuring his mother lived a long and comfortable life.

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><p>Hotch wouldn't let himself get distracted later on, either, when he heard Garcia tell Morgan how sick Reid was getting. Was it naïve of him to have hoped that somehow, Reid was miraculously immune to the disease? It was, but he couldn't focus as well if he was picturing Reid choking on his own blood or – God forbid – sputtering out random syllables because his brain was failing to find its words. If he listened to Garcia saying how poorly off Reid was, he'd lose his ability to compartmentalise, and he wouldn't be able to focus and catch Brown before he managed to kill hundreds of people.<p>

Hotch tried to ignore Morgan's broken expression as he stopped them talking about Reid and directed the focus back to the case.

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><p>Several hours later, Hotch had finally finished all the paperwork that had needed to be completed immediately after the case. He wanted nothing more than to go home and go to sleep; the day had been tremendously exhausting and the unit chief had not even had time to have a lunch break. But there was somewhere else he needed to be first; and it was likely he wouldn't sleep for several hours more.<p>

And so, after a quick phone call to his son, Hotch drove himself to the hospital, and after flashing his badge, was given directions to the top secret anthrax wing. The nurse who told him about it didn't even know what it was – it was just another section of the hospital that had been taken over for use by the CDC. Minimal hospital staff really knew what was going on here – most of those who were aware had been working in the ER and ICU the night it started, and they had been sworn to secrecy.

Sworn to secrecy… what would Hotch tell Reid's mother if the worst should happen?

But the worst _wouldn't _happen. Morgan had called Hotch a couple of hours after they caught Brown while the unit chief was still doing paperwork and dealing with the departure of the army, and he had told him that the lab had come back with the results – the contents of Nichols' inhaler was not a bronchodilator but was the cure for this strain of anthrax.

But Morgan _had _said the cure couldn't be given right away; it would still take time for the lab to figure out just how much needed to be given to each patient, and how to duplicate the cure so there would be enough for each person affected. That conversation had taken place an hour ago, and Morgan hadn't called since. Would it take too long for the lab to come back with a usable cure? Reid had put himself at risk for everyone here, staying in the house longer than he should have and breathing in more of that poison so he could figure out who had done this and where the next attack would be. It would be tragic if he died because the lab was just a little too slow.

Morgan looked up and then straight back down at the floor as Aaron Hotchner walked in. Garcia had one hand resting on his back supportively. She held eye contact for longer, but there was a suspicious hardened quality to her gaze that Hotch was unaccustomed to seeing. Prentiss was sitting in a hard plastic chair beside Garcia, her legs stretched out and crossed together at the ankle and her arms crossed over her chest. Her head was raised, but her eyes were lowered and staring into her lap. Rossi had been standing next to her, but he walked over to meet Hotch as the other approached. He stopped him when he was still about fifteen feet from the others.

"I should tell you before you see," said Rossi gently, and for a brief moment, Hotch's heart leapt into his throat as he finally processed the scene he had just witnessed with his colleagues in the hallway, and he realised Morgan had been crying. Derek Morgan didn't cry.

"Is he –" Hotch began, fixing Rossi with a penetrating stare.

"No – he's still alive," reassured Rossi, and Hotch looked away with a barely perceptible sigh of relief.

"Why is Morgan…" Hotch finished the sentence by gesturing towards his subordinates seated on a row of cheap plastic chairs attached to one side of the hallway.

"You know Morgan," muttered Rossi. "He feels guilty. He still thinks he's supposed to help Reid cross the street, and now he thinks he failed his job." Rossi gave a half-hearted smile before getting to the heart of the matter. "They gave him the cure not long ago."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Let me finish. I don't think 'cure' is the best word for it… his doctor will be able to tell you better, but the cure apparently just neutralises the poison. It's already done significant damage to his lungs… basically right now it's waiting and seeing if he's strong enough to recover on his own."

"_Wait and see_?" Hotch demanded in an angry but quiet voice. "The best they can do after he stuck his life on the line to save everyone in this city is _supportive therapy_?"

Rossi shrugged. "They're giving him some ungodly amount of antibiotics but apart from that… yeah."

Hotch grimaced. "When will we know?" he asked.

"The doctor says a little more than a week," Rossi said, and Hotch let out another frustrated huff. "There's been complications… his lungs filled with blood on the way to the hospital and he couldn't breathe any longer. He's on a ventilator; as well as about five hundred other things I couldn't name if you paid me. He's also been unconscious since they started him on morphine."

"Morphine?"

"Morgan told them not to, but Kimura said he'd die of pain if she didn't," Rossi explained. "What's the big deal about morphine anyway?"

Hotch grimaced. "If Reid wants to tell you he will," he said.

"Yeah," muttered Rossi, "if he's ever awake again."

Hotch chose to ignore that last sentiment. "Where's JJ?" he asked, having noticed the media liaison's absence.

Rossi gave a wry grin. "She had a family to go home to," he said. "Honestly, we all thought Reid would be fine. We didn't realise this was how it worked. We thought we'd drop in and have a bit of a chat with him… tell him what happened with the case and he'd be out by morning. JJ struggled with this one… she misses her family. I'd just like to give her one night of peace before we have to tell her the truth."

Hotch might have argued, might have told Rossi that JJ had a right to know her friend's condition. But he didn't. He knew JJ would be devastated if Reid died in the night, but she'd be devastated anyway. Dragging her away from her family and away from the only restful night's sleep she'd have for the next few days didn't seem to be the right thing to do. Besides, Hotch had to have faith in Reid. He _would _get better.

* * *

><p>Reid looked terrible. Hotch had seen some sick people in his time; people whom he had interviewed who had been hurt within inches of death by an unsub, but they had rarely looked this bad. And all of them had at least been conscious, and without a too large tube going down their throat.<p>

It was the morning after the anthrax scare had been dealt with and the city could rest in peace once more, but that luxury was still kept from the members of the BAU. Hotch had sent them all home around midnight, but Morgan, still feeling guilt for Reid's condition, had refused to leave, and Hotch, who did not have any family to go back to, had stayed to keep him company.

It was a Friday, but Hotch had managed to get some time off for the entire team; telling Strauss that they were far too concerned for their teammate to do any good working, and also reminding her that they were owed a few days off because of how many weekends they had worked in the past few months. She had been surprisingly understanding about it all, much to Hotch's relief.

Morgan was having serious trouble coping. He hadn't left Reid's side since he had been allowed in there, save for once when he went to the bathroom. He had been very snappy to the nurses and Hotch had been worried he was going to attack Dr Kimura when he asked her what Reid's chances were.

Hotch couldn't entirely blame him. He'd felt shattered when the woman had admitted to them he likely only had a forty to fifty per cent chance.

JJ had screamed at Hotch over the phone when he told her. She had said much the same things Morgan had said to him: why hadn't he made Reid come out of the house sooner; why didn't they at least bring him antibiotics while he was there – and of course, why was she, JJ, the last to know. She was in there now, sitting beside Reid on the opposite side of the bed to Morgan, hunched over so Hotch couldn't see her face from where he was seated in the hall. He was contemplating what to do next.

Calling JJ had been hard, very hard. But it had been the right thing to do. What was he supposed to do now? Was he supposed to tell a mentally ill woman that her son could be dead this time next week? Or should he lie, protect her, and hope the worst never happened?

He felt much the same as he had done over two years ago, when Reid had been missing and he had had no idea whether or not he would come back to them in one piece. He knew now that, no matter what he decided to tell her, it couldn't be the absolute truth. He might have been able to stretch the rules a little and tell her Spencer had anthrax if she had been any ordinary woman. But she wasn't, and if he told her the truth then not only would she tell everyone else in the hospital; it would also likely limit any progress the doctors were making with her. It wouldn't do to have her thinking about secret bioweapons the government was sticking in the water or something.

In the end, Hotch decided on part of the truth. Garcia walked in as Hotch was writing in Reid's handwriting, telling Diana he had come down with pneumonia and would be doing a stint in hospital. The unit chief barely noticed as she sat down next to him until she interrupted his thought process.

"What's that?" she asked curiously, and Hotch finally looked up. Garcia was wearing green framed glasses and make up, but it was obvious by the state of her hair that she had spent little time getting dressed this morning. She had probably gotten out of bed not an hour ago.

"I'm writing to his mother," Hotch answered honestly. "I can't really tell her the truth… not just yet. We'll just hope Reid makes it, and she doesn't have to know."

Garcia looked down at her lap. "He's not doing any better, then?" she asked him.

Hotch looked back up. He could see through the glass door to Reid's room. He could see the pallor of Reid's skin and how limp he looked. He could see just how many tubes and wires were snaking around his subordinate, tethering him to the bed. "No," Hotch told Garcia quietly. "No change."

"You know he called me," Garcia told Hotch, and the unit chief was only a little surprised to hear her voice tremble slightly. "When he was… there. He made me record a message to his mom. I had to basically listen to him say goodbye."

Hotch might have said something different had he been with Rossi, but because it was Garcia he said, "It won't be goodbye. We're not going to let it be goodbye."

* * *

><p>Reid woke up for the first time the following morning at eleven o'clock. He wasn't very cognizant; he didn't even seem to notice the fact that there was a tube down his throat. He just opened his eyes briefly and looked around at everyone around him, watching them all before less than two minutes later, the drugs and exhaustion dragged him back to sleep.<p>

* * *

><p>The second time he woke up, three hours later, he seemed much better. Dr Kimura had lowered the morphine some in accordance with Reid's wishes to be on the lowest dose possible. Now, with the drug cloud slightly lifted, he seemed more aware of his surroundings, and it even seemed that a small smile began in the corners of his mouth.<p>

Morgan still hadn't left his side, but the others had rotated keeping him company. They couldn't cram six people into the room even if they had been allowed: too many people would obstruct the doctors and nurses from doing their job. Right now Morgan, Hotch and Prentiss were in the room, and Reid's eyes slid over each of them, silently acknowledging their presence.

"Hey, kid," Morgan said. "How're you feeling?"

Reid gave a small shrug, then squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he rode out a wave of pain. When it ended, he mimed writing with his right hand. Recognising the request, Hotch took a notepad and pen from inside his jacket and pressed them into the younger man's hand. Because he was unable to sit up, Reid could not see what he was writing on the notepad atop the bed sheet; he just did it by feel. When he handed it back to Hotch, the unit chief barely managed to hold in his dismay.

_Garish tray evoke lax._

"Reid, I don't think the aphasia's been cured just yet," Hotch said gently, then he showed him the note.

Reid's face contorted into a picture of abject misery as he saw evidence that the worst part of his illness hadn't been fixed. His eyes screwed up, and he thumped the mattress with one hand angrily. He began struggling against the ventilator, and then an alarm sounded.

Almost immediately, the three that had been in the room were ushered out as Kimura and two nurses ran in. Reid calmed after a needle was held up to his IV line, and before long the obnoxious alarm sounds stopped.

"What happened?" Kimura asked as she exited the room, peeling off a set of gloves.

Hotch showed her the note. "He still has aphasia," Hotch explained. "I thought the cure would have taken care of that?"

Kimura shrugged. "So did I," she admitted. "It might take a little longer for the brain to heal, though. We'll just have to wait and see."

_Wait and see_. It really was all the doctors could come up with in regards to Reid.

* * *

><p>After that incident, Hotch continued to write Reid's letters, while Reid, who was still sleeping at least twenty two hours a day, would check it over and either approve it to be sent, or point at a certain part he didn't like. Hotch would then have to guess exactly what Spencer didn't like about what was said, because his methods of communication remained very limited. He tried writing when he wasn't too tired, but it only ever came out a garbled mess of broken English.<p>

They were still going down the honesty road in regards to what Diana was being told. Even though Reid had woken up, he wasn't entirely out of the woods yet, and they didn't want her to be completely blindsided should the worst come to pass. It was a hard line to tread: the line between preparing Diana for the worst and not sounding so macabre that she would become severely depressed.

_Dear Mom, _Hotch had written the last time.

_How are you going? Have you been reading a lot? I hope you're continuing to read lots of different stuff – don't read the same thing over again too many times._

_I'm still in the hospital. Apparently my pneumonia is quite bad. I'm getting a little more worried by it; I have terrible headaches and I haven't actually read anything in the past few days._

_I don't want you to worry though; I'll be alright. The doctors have put me on the strongest antibiotics they have. But I hope you're focusing on your wellbeing more. _

_I'm really bored here. The team has no cases at the moment, so even if Hotch would let me help out (which he wouldn't while I'm sick) I couldn't do anything anyway. I can't read or watch TV because of my headache and at the moment I'm too sick to get out of bed so there's really nothing to do. Morgan has a few days off and he hasn't left me at all, which is really nice of him, but I'm still bored. _

_I don't have that much to tell you because I haven't been doing much. I hope you're doing better than I am. I love you._

_Spencer_

Four days after Reid was admitted, Hotch was called to the nurse's station to take a phone call.

Hotch felt a sense of extreme trepidation as he picked up the phone: the person on the other end was claiming to be Diana Reid and was demanding to speak to her son, according to the nurse who had answered the call. "Mrs Reid?" he asked into the phone.

"_What have you done with my son? Who are you?_" the irate woman on the other line demanded immediately, and Hotch's heart sunk.

"Mrs Reid, my name is Aaron Hotchner; I'm a friend of your son's," he explained gently, hoping the word "friend" would cause her to trust him more than the words "boss" or "colleague" would.

"_A friend? A _friend? _I know you! Spencer writes about you! You work for the government, and you've tricked him into trusting you! And now he's locked up in there like some animal! BRING HIM HERE AT ONCE!_"

Hotch grimaced, pulling the phone a little further from his ear. "I can't do that," he said honestly. "But he's not locked up… he's just ill at the moment."

"_He's too sick to talk to his mother? Ha! You're just afraid I'll discover what's _really _going on; how you and your fellow fascists have poisoned him! Well, you won't get anything out of him. Torturing him will get you NOWHERE so you had better let him go before I come down there and _–"

"Mrs Reid," Hotch interrupted, in what he hoped was a soothing voice. In his line of work he had spoken to mentally unwell people many times before, but it was different when the person in question was related to somebody he cared about. "I promise we only want to help him. He's receiving the best care possible, and as soon as he's ready he'll be free to go wherever he wants. He's not a prisoner here."

"_You expect me to believe that_?" Diana's voice was angry, but Hotch could detect fear and desperation hidden below the fury. He felt a sudden surge of sympathy for the woman; if his own son were in Reid's position he would probably be kicking and screaming as well. "_You expect me to believe a government agent's word? I am his MOTHER. I know when something is wrong. You put him on the phone right now_!"

Hotch sighed deeply. "I can't do that, Mrs Reid. He needs his rest. But I promise he will call you as soon as he's able."

"_I knew it. I knew you were hiding it from me. You want me to think he's dead, don't you? Well I know he's not. I know you're just hiding him, keeping him so he –_"

Very suddenly, the line cut out. Hotch returned the phone to the nurse at the desk, realising that Diana's hospital probably had rules about how long the phone could be used for, and she had exceeded that time. He sighed, hoping he wouldn't have to receive any more of those phone calls. He wished Reid would suddenly wake up one day, aphasia gone, illness cured, and ready to go home. That wouldn't happen quickly. It may not happen at all.

Hotch looked back in at the room where Reid was sleeping before sighing heavily and turning to leave.

* * *

><p>To Hotch's immense relief, Reid spontaneously regained the ability to write the next day. He was still extremely tired from pain and illness, and he couldn't sit up enough to be able to see what he was writing, so everything he did was slanted, and words on separate lines would run into each other. So Hotch continued to write the letters, although with less guesswork when he had included something Reid didn't like.<p>

Finally, after eight long and difficult days and eight long and painful letters, Reid was finally judged healthy enough to be officially out of the danger zone. As the doctor sedated him one final time so she could take out the ventilator, the rest of the team as one breathed a sigh of relief. They didn't yet know if this strain had been completely cured by the powder found in Nichols' inhaler or if it would be like the Amerithrax of 2001 and leave its sufferers disabled for the rest of their lives, but they were only happy the youngest team member wasn't going to die. Exhausted after the long week, five of them went home to finally get the long, uninterrupted sleep they needed; while the sixth remained to keep Reid company when he woke up.

Derek Morgan, who had not left the hospital for more than an hour at a time since the team had apprehended Brown, who had slept in chairs and eaten only what other people had thought to bring him, was the one Reid saw when his eyes finally opened, now much clearer with no morphine at all dulling his senses.

"Are you eating Jello?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: It could've happened…

Reviews are really appreciated. As far as the show is going right now, this is the final chapter. If there should be another viable episode in the future, I may add more chapters. But for now, I really want to thank every one of you for taking the time to read this. Most of all I'd like to thank those of you who took the time to leave a review. You all made writing so easy and so much fun, and it was wonderful sharing the journey, so to speak.

If I could make one final request, I'd like to ask for prayers for my grandfather, who is a wonderful man and is seriously ill right now, both mentally and physically. I'm very worried for him and I would not normally ask, but if it is your custom to pray, please spare a thought for him to help get him through this difficult time. Thank you all very much.


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